Everything at Once
by kci47
Summary: In little more than twelve hours, every aspect of Hermione Granger's life goes to hell. What's a girl to do when everything falls apart? [Warnings: adult language and situations, Ministry of Magic maligning, slightly OOC vengeful!Hermione, eventual hints of SSHG.] A gift for TycheSong. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**A gift for TycheSong...keep your head up, girl.**

* * *

"No no no, wait! Please hold the—" Hermione watched as the red phone booth sunk below the pavement, knowing it would be another eighteen and a half minutes before it would return, "—phone booth. Damn."

She was late for work today, which was highly unlike her, but Crookshanks, the _dear_, had vomited in the pair of shoes she'd set out last night, and she hadn't realized until she'd gone to slip them on this morning. The associated scolding, clean-up, and subsequent outfit change had had her bolting from the flat with just a few minutes to spare. And she might have made the phone booth, too, if she hadn't had the misfortune of being stuck behind the _slowest _walker she'd ever encountered. By the time she'd been able to scoot around the woman and her triple-wide pram, she'd had to run full tilt to the booth. Which she'd missed, anyway.

A strange ache spread through her chest, almost as though it was warm and then cold. She really needed to refill her anti-anxiety medication at the apothecary, but that would require another trip to her Muggle shrink, and she simply didn't have the time. Or the funds, actually. The odd sensation continued, and Hermione rubbed a hand over her heart. It came away wet. Glancing down, she realized what the peculiar feeing was. Her fast and furious run had earned her a giant coffee splash down the front of her new silk blouse as well. "Bloody, fucking, buggering hell," she mumbled to herself, examining the damage. Yep, the shirt was irrevocably ruined. Neither magical nor Muggle remedies had yet to quite figure out how to successfully remove coffee stains from silk. And she'd just splurged on this, too.

"Shaping up to be a great day," she muttered as she eyed the empty phone booth balefully. She took a careful sip of the hot coffee, figuring she might as well enjoy what was left of it. No doubt she'd need the caffeine boost sooner rather than later. She immediately spat the mouthful out, however—no cream or sugar. Disgusted with herself, her cat, her coffee, and her life in general, Hermione crammed the paper mug into the nearest rubbish bin.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was rushing down the hall to her office, hoping to get in and make herself look busy before her boss did his morning rounds at 8:37 on the dot. _Why _he bothered to do a desk-check was beyond her; she was fairly convinced the man hadn't so much as lifted a finger in the past two decades that he had been the head of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It had only been once she'd started as a junior-level policy writer in the year after the war that the department had seen any forward momentum.

Of course, she didn't like to pat herself on the back too much. She knew that much of that momentum had been a personal favor from Minister Shacklebolt, on Harry's request. Still, she was proud of the work she'd accomplished here, and proud of the progressive achievements they'd made in the treatment of beings, beasts, and spirits alike. It was a decent job, and she excelled at it; if she occasionally felt slightly less than fulfilled, well, who could blame her? After all, nothing would ever compare to hunting down the Horcruxes of a deranged megalomaniac. Or so her St. Mungo's therapist had told her.

Wincing, she stuffed her purse into a desk drawer and flopped into her chair, shoving her unruly hair back out of her face. She hadn't had the time or the funds to see the St. Mungo's Healer lately, either. There was no help for it, though—Hermione Granger would persevere. At least her career and her love life were on track. Surely those two successes were enough to keep her from backsliding into the depression that had hung over her head after the war?

And speaking of her love life...she quickly penned an invitation for lunch to her beau, Jackson Welleson. He worked in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and he was considered quite a catch. Not that Hermione cared what other people thought, because she didn't. Or she tried not to, anyway. She couldn't help but feel the teeniest bit smug whenever she was out in public with Jackson. He was ruggedly good-looking and his native Norwegian accent only added to the appeal. The past three months with him had been some of the happiest she'd known. Smiling like a loon, she sent the purple bit of parchment winging off to his office.

"Oh! Um, Hermione. Hey. How—how are you?" Lisandra Markel, Hermione's office mate, a Slytherin who had been just a few years ahead of her in school, stopped abruptly just inside the door.

"Well, this morning was off to a bit of a rough start, but overall I think it'll be alright," Hermione replied.

Lisandra seemed to relax and she smiled tentatively at Hermione. "I'm so glad you aren't too torn up. Let's grab lunch sometime, yeah?"

Hermione nodded, a bit befuddled by the girl's peculiar answer and quick flight from the room, but she didn't dwell on it too much. She waited, tapping her fingers on her desk, hoping that Jackson was free today. She'd been out sick for a good deal of last week and she was desperate to see him. She checked her watch and saw that it was already 8:43—goodness. She must have just missed Dolby Dolper, her boss, by the time she'd gotten in. Drat. Now she'd have to find an excuse to go to him in his office and make it seem like there was a pressing reason, other than making sure he knew she was present and working. He never stepped foot into "the hive", as he called their working space, except for his twice-daily desk checks.

She shuffled some papers around on her desk and then an idea came to her. She had a batch of reports that were due back from the Dark Creatures section—she'd go round those up and hand them over to Dolby herself. Of course, it wouldn't be pleasant—the head of the Dark Creatures section was none other than Severus Snape. After his miraculous recovery and flamboyant resignation from Hogwarts, he'd come to the Ministry, intent on tracking, and in some cases hunting, malignant creatures. He was bloody good at it, too. In the three years since the war, he'd managed to find and dispose of no less than twenty-seven snakes that Voldemort had attempted to use for nefarious purposes before finally "getting it right" with Nagini. Hermione shuddered to think what his day-to-day consisted of. Thankfully even her most frustrating day with the Wizengamot was nothing compared to lurking in the dankest, dirtiest corners of Great Britain.

Snape was hardly pleasant on his best days, but Hermione had worked hard to cultivate a semi-cordial working relationship with him over the years. The key, she'd learned, was to come for what she needed, and then get out. Generally, though, if he was in the office instead of out looking for dangerous creatures, his outlook was set to 'grumpy'. Sometimes she'd bring a peace offering with her—a cup of coffee (the good kind, not the Ministry swill), a new journal (_not _Potions, thank you), or a juicy bit of misfortune being suffered by one of Snape's detested contemporaries (reserved for when she needed to ask him for a large favor). Today, though, she was fresh out of all three. She steeled herself for the confrontation and just hoped that he was in a decent mood this morning. Unfortunately his only assistant was a bumbling, reedy Hufflepuff who had volunteered to work for free, so most days in the office found Snape in quite a foul mood.

She was on her way out the door when a purple piece of paper came zinging at her. Hermione snatched it out of the air, opening it to Jackson's familiar scrawl: _Sorry. Can't. _Hermione frowned. That was awful terse of him, wasn't it? Vowing to stop by his cubicle after her other visits, Hermione chucked the paper in the recycle bin and headed off to find Snape.

It took the better part of forty minutes before she caught sight of the tail of a black robe whipping around the corner. Jogging to catch up, Hermione cursed her bad luck. Nothing was going right so far today, and her mad search for Snape was just one more nail in her proverbial coffin. To top it all off, she had barely run into another living soul on the whole level. It was almost as if the department had been vacated. Even once she'd found a lower-level intern, that person had stammered a response and fled. Honestly, it was the strangest thing.

Rounding the corner, she saw Snape moving at a fast clip up ahead. "Severus!" she called, running as fast as she could in her heels. "Severus, please, wait!"

She thought she only imagined the way his shoulders stiffened, but at least he did slow down. Panting as she caught up to him, Hermione grabbed the stitch in her side. "Bloody hell. What's the rush?" He didn't deign to respond, so Hermione took a moment to catch her breath as she matched her stride to his reduced one. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"What a coincidence," he intoned. "I've been avoiding you everywhere."

"I'm sorry?" she gasped.

"You heard me." He paused and eyed her blouse. "Interesting fashion statement."

Hermione frowned now, choosing to ignore the remark about the coffee stain. Sure, it wasn't as if they were bosom buddies, but usually he at least treated her with a modicum of tolerance. Not outright dismissal.

"Uh, okay. Well, I was wondering if you'd had a chance to review those reports I sent two weeks ago? I need to get them over to Dolby for—"

"I sent them to Miss Markel."

"You—but why? Those were my reports."

Snape stopped in his tracks, and Hermione nearly plowed into him. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked.

"Isn't _what_ obvious? You know, I've had about enough of everyone's foolishness today! First Lisandra is downright weird, then Jackson canceled on me for lunch, and then the spotty intern down on level four was less than helpful—what's going on?"

"Oh, dear. You _don't _know," he drawled, his eyes alight with glee. Then he exhaled sharply. "For shame. As much as I would love to fill you in, I think Dolby is best suited for that. Come along."

"Fill me in? On what? Have I been—oh, gods, have I been reassigned?" Hermione shuddered at the thought. Now more than ever there was a dearth of wizards willing to work for the Ministry, so people were shifted into different departments all the time, whenever there were severe staffing shortages. Heaven help her if she ended up in the Magical Games department or something equally atrocious.

Snape just shook his head. She could tell he was waging war with himself, because his mouth opened and closed once before he picked up his pace again, steering them ever more quickly to Dolby's office.

"Please just tell me!" she begged, placing a hand on his arm. "You've no idea how bad this morning has been already—"

Apparently Snape decided to lose the war with his conscience. "You're being sent to the Centaur Office, so to speak," he told her. One corner of his mouth quirked happily.

"_WHAT?!_" Hermione screeched. The Centaur Liaison Office had been set up when the Ministry was first established, but to date no Centaur had ever utilized it. Everyone in the Ministry knew that was slang for being sacked. "I can't be fired! On what grounds? I was only ten minutes late today!"

But Snape just shook his head and kept walking. Hermione fell in behind him, fuming. She didn't trust herself to look at the gloating expression on his face and not try to hex it off. Another few minutes and they were at Dolby's office. Snape knocked on the door, and their boss opened it a crack.

"Oh. Severus. It's you. Come on in—" He pulled the door open wide and only then caught sight of Hermione. "Oooh. And you've brought Hermione. Erm...best if you came back later, dear," he told her.

Hermione shouldered Snape out of the way and marched into Dolby's office, planting her hands on her hips. "No! Not until you tell me what's going on!"

Dolby glanced nervously at Severus and then back at her. "Yes. Well. I was rather hoping you'd received my owl...?" At his hopeful look, Hermione shook her head no. Dolby's face fell. "Ah. Well. Must have crossed your path coming down here, I sent him out to arrive at your place no later than 8:04..." He trailed off and began to pace. Hermione's worst fears were confirmed—there was nothing Dolby liked less than working, except for delivering bad news.

"Mr. Dolper!" she barked.

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Granger. But we have to let you go." Dolby wrung his hands together and tried to look sympathetic. Hermione thought he just looked constipated.

"But why? Is this because I was out last week? I have a note from the dispensary at St. Mungo's; I was diagnosed with dragon pox and couldn't be around anyone—"

"No, no, dear, this has nothing to do with absences. Ministry policy states that each employee has fourteen and one-third sick days to use as they deem—"

"I know the policy! I _revised_ the policy!" Hermione fumed.

"Yes. So you did. I, ah, forgot about that." Dolby nodded.

"So? Is it my job performance? Because I can do better. I'll work overtime—"

Snape snorted and Hermione shot him a scowl. She'd nearly forgotten he was even still here, witnessing her utter and complete humiliation. _Just another personal low on a day of lows, _she told herself. _Sacked in front of your academic idol..._

"Actually, Miss Granger, it's a bit of—of the opposite problem."

With difficulty, Hermione pulled her attention away from Snape's looming presence and back to Dolby. "I don't understand."

"Well, dear, you see, you're just a bit too—passionate."

"Too passionate," Hermione repeated woodenly.

"Yes. Some of the creatures have filed complaints. Seems they haven't much appreciated their new 'freedoms' as it were. Of course we have been very honored by your hard work over the past two years—"

"Three. I've been here three years. Coming up on four, actually."

"Regardless, the complaint pile has backed up to a point now where even I can't ignore it any longer. But here, don't look so downtrodden—on behalf of the RCMC department, may I present you with this plaque in honor of your diligence."

He fumbled around on his desk before producing a dusty plaque and handing it to her. Hermione wiped off some of the grime and squinted at the inscription. "This isn't even my name."

Dolby flushed a bright red, then stabbed his wand towards the plaque, which now read _To Hermine Gardner_. Beyond annoyed with the entire situation, Hermione chucked the plaque at the trash bin. It bounced off the rim and hit the floor with a satisfying _clang_. Deciding to just accept her fate for now—at least until she could plead her case with Kingsley—she crossed her arms and glared alternately at her former boss and Snape. Her former professor was grinning like the Cheshire cat now, and it made Hermione's blood boil. Or perhaps it was a different feeling entirely, because she was fairly certain he'd never directed a smile at her before, and it was doing funny things to her insides... No. No, it had to be anger. She would not accept any other explanation. But she did need to get the hell away from him. "At least I'm still getting a severance," she snapped, brushing past Snape to exit the suddenly-too-hot room.

"About that," Dolby began, but Hermione held up a hand for him to stop.

"Let me guess. Ministry coffers are nearly empty after the war, and pensions are distributed based on seniority?" When Dolby merely nodded, Hermione huffed out an aggravated breath and stormed out of the room, refusing to make eye contact with Snape as she did so. At least this meant she wouldn't have to cross paths with him anymore, even if the occasional verbal sparring match with him really fired her engines. No, she was better off now—she was free to find a job she loved and she would no longer have to bribe her coworkers to help her with coffee and Transfiguration journals.

She started down the hallway and heard Snape calling her name. She picked up her pace and beelined for the lifts, hoping to get away from him. As an afterthought, she made a rude hand gesture at him, more amused than angry when he only laughed. Yes, that felt much better.

Then he replied, "Not if you were the last female on Earth, Miss Granger."

Being rejected by Snape? Worse. That was definitely worse.

* * *

Hermione took the lifts up to Jackson's level, hoping to catch him alone for a moment to find out why he couldn't grab lunch with her today. Maybe they could kip out for a short break mid-morning, instead. As she approached his cubicle, she suddenly remembered that she needed to pay her annual subscription to _Transfiguration Today_. She was halfway back to her office when she shook herself. She needed to see Jackson. Returning to his floor, she strode towards his cube again, only this time she thought she might have left her coffeemaker on at home, and she'd better pop in and check so that her flat didn't burn down. This go-round she only made it as far as the doorway before she snapped out of it.

Knowing there was a powerful repelling charm in place, Hermione held her wand to her temple and focused on her goal—_Must. See. Jackson. _Then she approached his desk slowly, carefully, her goal centered in her mind. She must have made it through the barrier, because the next thing she knew, she could hear sounds coming from Jackson's designated space.

_Sex _sounds.

She frowned. Something just wasn't computing here, and she was going to find out what it was. She marched into his cubicle, not even thinking to disguise her approach, and stared at the display before her. Even with her own eyes on the scene, it just didn't make any sense.

Jackson. A curvy black-haired witch. Both half-naked and shagging frantically on Jackson's normally pristine desk.

"Jackson?" Hermione's voice sounded like it was coming to her from far away. Both her boyfriend and the witch whipped around to stare at her, and Hermione tilted her head in confusion. "What are you doing?"

The girl laughed. "Merlin. If you have to ask then I guess I know why Jackson's come to me for—"

"That's enough, Petra." Jackson backed away and hurriedly stuffed himself into his trousers. He grabbed his suit jacket and tossed it over the girl. "I'll see you tonight, alright?" he murmured to her.

Hermione watched, fascinated, as the girl shimmied back into her panties and smoothed down her skirt before blowing Jackson a kiss and sashaying from the cubicle. It was like watching some horrible trash on the telly—it was okay to gawk, because it wasn't happening to _you_.

"Hermione?" Jackson asked, his voice laden with concern.

Except it _was _happening to her.

The pieces crashed together with frightening clarity. "Don't bother," Hermione said, waving him off when he made to come closer. "I suppose I ought to be grateful that I always insisted on magical _and _Muggle protection. Seriously, Jackson, be careful with that one—she looks like she might have a bit of the doxy-pox. Left untreated, it'll make your testicles shrivel up and—"

"Stop! Please, gods, Hermione, stop. Petra's a nice girl. You just, uh, surprised us."

"No kidding." She stared at Jackson, noticing for the first time the way his placating smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and the way his hair was styled _just so _to look like it hadn't been styled at all. And when he'd tossed his jacket at Petra, Hermione had noticed it wasn't even actual chimaera wool, as he liked to claim, but a simple alpaca blend. Fake, fake, fake. She ought to have known better. She turned to leave, and Jackson called out to her.

"I am sorry, you know. I didn't mean for you to find out this way."

Hermione goggled at his arrogance. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "I'm just glad I found out at all," she ground out, suddenly thankful that she'd been sick last week and they hadn't had sex in far too long. She didn't care for the thought of sharing.

"Well, I'll see you around, yeah?" Jackson asked cheerfully, re-buttoning his shirt and straightening his tie.

Hermione didn't bother to look back this time, merely gave him the same rude hand gesture she'd given Snape.

* * *

One of the overhead lights flickered and then went out, casting her lonely table in the Ministry cafeteria into shadow. Spread across the tabletop was a visual history of her past ninety minutes: it had started with a single brownie, the crumbs of which had been dusted over to the edge. Then had come the giant fizzy drink, slurped down and refilled—twice. Then the lemon custard, the treacle tart, the baker's dozen of pumpkin pasties, and the grand finale—a full shepherd's pie. To offset the sweetness, naturally.

Hermione glared at the offending detritus, trying to Vanish it all to a rubbish bin by sheer force of will. No luck. Then a darker shadow crossed her already-dim airspace.

"Hermione? Blimey, what are you—" Ron's voice.

"Not now, Ron." Harry slid onto the bench opposite her, bending down to peer into her face. "I think Hermione's had a bit of a rough go."

Hermione laughed mirthlessly, and Ron tentatively joined Harry on the bench, looking for all the world like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Having a rough go is getting a paper cut right on your wand hand," Hermione said flatly. "Spilling coffee on your new blouse, being late to work and subsequently getting fired, and then being dumped by your boyfriend—as he boinks another woman, might I add—_that's _a damn bloody fucking shitty day," she snarled. "Oh! And I can't believe it—I nearly forgot that Crooks vomited in my favorite pair of heels this morning. Ha, ha, ha."

Ron and Harry exchanged a worried look. Hermione couldn't blame them—she was starting to scare even herself.

"Why did you even come in?" Harry asked. "Surely someone would've packed up your work things. I offered but Dolby told me not to worry about it—"

"Hold on." Hermione slapped both hands down onto the table, knocking a tart wrapper to the floor. "You _knew_?" She looked from one friend to another. "You _both _knew?! Ugh!" She threw her hands in the air before laying her head on the table and mumbling to herself. "This bloody hellhole. Everyone and their mother finds out a person's been sacked but can they be arsed to actually let the person know? _Nooooo_. Leave it to a bloody owl. Wankers."

"I don't think Mum knew," Ron offered in reply. "Although I can't say for certain because she did have Percy over for Sunday dinner last night, so—"

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione sighed. He compiled and they sat in silence. Eventually the boys stood to go, and Harry patted her sympathetically on the back.

"Chin up," he whispered as he passed her. Hermione wanted to smile, honestly she did, but all that emerged was an awful baring of her teeth. After they were gone, she closed her eyes and wondered what was wrong with her.

* * *

It could have been five minutes or five hours later, Hermione wasn't certain, but she snapped awake when someone rapped her rather more firmly on the shoulder than was entirely necessary.

"Cafeteria's closed, miss. Time t'go."

Hermione looked up to see an elderly janitor staring at her with his lone eye. She started to sit up but something yanked at her hair and she stopped. She attempted to loosen the strands from wherever they were caught, but she couldn't find the source. She tried to straighten again, only to howl in pain when her hair pulled at her scalp.

"What the—"

"Looks like it mighten be glued down," the janitor offered helpfully.

"So unglue it," she snapped, determined that someone had played an awfully cruel prank.

"Cain't," the janitor said lazily. "'m a Squib. Asides, it looks like it were dried to that puddle o' puddin'."

Hermione felt the ends of her hair with new perspective, and realized the man was right. While she slept, some of the pudding had melted and drained out of the cup, pooling around her hair—and then hardening. The string of curses that left her mouth then had the janitor blushing by the time she was done.

"'ere, now, none o' that. Ol' Red'll get ya loose," he soothed. Hermione whimpered when he extracted a large, rusty pair of scissors from a pocket of his coveralls.

"No, no, I'm sure I can—"

"Ain't no spell's gonna free that mess," he replied, calmly shuffling around the table to her other side. "Now hold still. I ain't want t'poke ya."

Hermione pushed back the feeling of complete and utter defeat as the first snips reached her ears. She would _not _fall to pieces over her hair. Hermione Granger was not the type to rely on looks for her self-worth; if she secretly took pride in the bushy mass out of vanity's sake then this would be the perfect opportunity to rectify her shallower side of nature. When Red was done, he stepped back.

"Ain't so bad," he pronounced, which somehow only made Hermione feel worse. Could he even _see _her with just the one eye? Tenderly, she touched a hand to her hand, gasping when she felt the _very_ shortly shorn locks.

"Thank you," she managed, rather stiffly, to Red; she gave the table one quick glance and then moved away before she could do something ridiculous like stuff all the long curls into her pocket for re-gluing to her head later. As ideas went, it certainly wasn't her worst, was it?

Yeah. It was pretty damn bad. She sighed.

* * *

Hermione took a long, rambling route back to the lifts. It was unlikely that she would have reason to be back in these Ministry halls any time soon, and though she hadn't always loved it here, she was going to miss it, just a bit. It was nearly nine o'clock when she finally boarded a lift and prepared to head home. She was halfway between levels two and three when the lift came to a grinding halt.

"It's the end of the day here at the Ministry of Magic. Please be well!" a chipper voice sing-songed into the lift.

"What?" Hermione punched the numbers on the control panel, trying to get the blasted thing moving again. But it didn't budge. "What do you mean, the end of the day? The whole place just _shuts down_?" Hermione waited for some kind of response, but none came.

Then the lights turned off.

"Fucking fantastic," she muttered, scrubbing a hand over her forehead. But that only served to remind her of her new haircut, so she let her hand drop. Lighting her wand, she assessed her options. One—send a Patronus to someone for help. Two—try to magic her way out of the lift. Seeing as she'd already been at someone else's mercy for enough of the day, thankyouverymuch, she decided to figure her own way out. But none of her spells worked on the ancient lift system. And when she gave in and tried to send a Patronus, her otter bounced around the interior of the lift for a few moments before standing in front of her and stating "Message Undeliverable" before disintegrating.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Hermione kicked the lift grates as hard as she could, resulting only in a shooting pain up her leg. There _had _to be a way out. She remembered picking locks with a hairpin when she was a child, so as a last-ditch resort, she jabbed her wand into the small space between the grates and tried to wiggle it. She heard a clicking sound and bent to her task, beginning to sweat. Apparently the ventilation system turned off at night, too.

Her wand slid another inch deeper into the grates and she thought she was making progress. Just one more twist, and then—

_Crack_.

Her wand snapped in half.

Staring at the piece in her hand in disbelief, Hermione sunk to the floor. Her wand—her trusty wand—the wand that had chosen her when she was eleven, learned every spell right along with her, defended her and her friends against unlimited amounts of peril—_broken_. Like a meager pencil. Grief poured through her, and all her frustration and humiliation from the day finally caught up. She sobbed hysterically in the dark of the lift, made unaccountably sadder by the thought that she owed Harry an apology for being so cavalier when his own wand had broken in Godric's Hollow.

Eventually the tears ran out, and she wallowed on the floor of Ministry lift number fourteen, hoping fervently that Death would just come and take her.

* * *

**A/N: The line "I've been avoiding you everywhere" is from _The Princess and The Frog_. **


	2. Chapter 2

"What in the name o' Helga Hufflepuff—"

Hermione woke with a start, blinking rapidly as the lighting in the lift flickered to life and temporarily blinded her. When the fuzziness receded, she peered out of the grate and saw a few of what must be the morning-shift janitors looking confusedly in at her.

"Did you sleep in there?" one asked her.

"Not intentionally," she sniped. "I was _trying _to leave last night but the whole place shut down. And I couldn't even send a Patronus for help."

"Not after hours, you can't," another of the janitors agreed.

"Will you just open the bloody doors already?" she asked, standing and brushing off her robe. She looked around for her wand before remembering that she'd jammed the loose half in with its brother last night. The janitors stepped back and one pressed the button on the outside wall. Her lift fell the last few feet to floor level, then the grates miraculously opened. Her wand pieces tinkered down through the slot between the lift and the floor, their _ping_s echoing for several moments before they hit the bottom. Wherever that was.

Though she wasn't much of a claustrophobe, Hermione nevertheless felt as though she could breathe more easily again with the grates open. Gathering what little dignity she had left, she marched off the lift and past the janitors, heading for the bank of Floos in the Atrium. At least she would be able to Floo directly home without requiring a wand. First up would be a shower and a hot meal, prepared the Muggle way. Then she would need to Floo to Diagon Alley—a new wand was in order. Second on her list was a wig of some sort. She simply refused to exact her revenge with half her hair gone, which brought her to her third point: avenging the wrongs of the past twenty-four hours. And oh, it would be sweet.

* * *

Perhaps she ought to have bought the wig first and then gone to get a wand, Hermione reflected a few hours later. Poor Mr. Ollivander seemed deeply disturbed by her appearance at his shop. But then again, the man had never fully recovered from his war trauma, and she was certainly a reminder of the horrible time he'd spent in the Malfoy Manor.

Or maybe he just hadn't cared for the vindictive gleam in her eye when he'd pronounced her second wand "even more powerful and suited to a witch of action" than her first.

Yes. Her delighted cackle probably hadn't helped matters, either.

She prowled through some of the seedier shops on Knockturn Alley, realizing that she'd need something of a disguise in order to carry out many of her revenge plans. The wig was a good start—no one would ever suspect Hermione Granger of sleek, straight, black hair—but she needed more. In the end, she bought a few tight-fitting robes in black, gray, and even one with an amethyst corseted top. _That_ one she was saving for her final act of revenge. Over-the-knee boots—_arse-kicking boots_, she liked to think of them—and a decorative pair of dragonhide-patterned glasses completed the ensemble. The simple Muggle trick of colored contact lenses gave her gray eyes to go with her black hair. A little bit of ruby red lipstick and she was unforgettable, but also unrecognizable as her former self. It was all coming together.

Since she had no intentions of exacting revenge on Crookshanks—after all, he was an innocent cat who'd done an innocent cat thing—and since she had no _means _of exacting revenge on the slow-moving woman from the sidewalk, Hermione started with the phone booth. After all, missing that had caused her to be late to her desk, and even though she knew it was irrational to blame the phone booth for all her problems, she couldn't help but want to see the damn thing burn. It was a symbol of the start to her awful day.

But she settled for making it reek, thanks to one of the latest WWW products: the Ever-Lasting Stench Bomb, only available in quantities not to exceed two per year, to witches and wizards aged twenty and older, and only by providing proof of identity. The identity had been a bit of a sticky issue, to be sure, but a simple Confundus charm had worked remarkably well on Verity. She assuaged her conscience by sending an anonymous letter to George, highlighting some of the security deficiencies in his operation; the ability for a consumer to cast the Confundus included.

Then she Disillusioned herself and watched, laughing, as group after group of Ministry employees tried to enter the phone booth before quickly exiting, many of them gagging. On the occasion that someone _did _manage to stay in the booth long enough to enter the access code, Hermione took heart in the fact that they looked miserably ill the whole way down. She expected that things inside the Ministry were in a bit of an uproar as complaint after complaint would be filed with the Magical Maintenance department. Luckily for them, the effects of the Ever-Lasting Stench Bomb were not, in fact, permanent; the packaging assured her that the odious odor would dissipate in the next two to five years.

* * *

The next phase of her revenge plan centered on the Ministry—specifically, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—but it was going to take some time to pull it off the way she envisioned. The first step was finding the right partner: someone who was intelligent and ambitious but not cunning; someone who would work tirelessly to help her with her cause but give her all the credit. Someone...who was a Hufflepuff.

Since Justin Finch-Fletchley was fresh out of barrister school and looking to prove himself, Hermione set up a meeting with him for the following week and then got to work sorting through her files and notes. Unfortunately, she no longer had access to _everything _she needed; but at least she could tip Justin off and trust him to follow through from there. Shortly after the war, the Ministry had adopted a 'transparency policy' which technically speaking held them accountable to the wizarding public. In reality, however, no one knew or cared about the policy, so the Ministry operated the same as it had before.

But as Justin pointed out when she met with him that next week, the policy _had _been enacted and it _was _legally binding, so whether it had been utilized heretofore or not was inconsequential. (And damned if she didn't fall just the teeniest bit in love with Justin as he rambled off a string of large vocabulary words, his eyes alight with genuine interest in her proposal.) Since she was still in disguise, he couldn't know that he was working with Hermione Granger to upend the RCMC department, but he became very animated nonetheless as they worked through "Gwendolen's" suggestions and he quizzed her about her "source" inside the Ministry.

"You're saying that the Centaur Liaison Office was established but essentially provides zero access points for actual centaurs?" he asked her, skimming through a sheaf of her parchments and making notes on his own.

"That's correct. On paper, the Ministry has provided a means for centaurs and other creatures to make grievances or participate in rule-making, but in actuality there is no physical way for them to even step foot—er, sorry, hoof—into the building. It's a joke amongst the employees that being sacked is getting 'sent to the Centaur Office'." She grit her teeth together at this particularly painful reminder that she'd been fired for bothering to care about her job.

"And this same kind of treatment is perpetuated in other ways throughout the entire department?" He stared intently at her, a small crease between his brows, and Hermione nodded.

"More than that, there is a pervasive attitude that the Ministry can do whatever it wants without regard to any of their own policies. There are several pages of examples in that stack of parchment I gave you, all with documented back-up. I just couldn't—um, my source couldn't hand over the documentation but with the new transparency law anyone should be able to request the relevant papers."

"Yes. As I said, the Wizengamot enacted that immediately after the war and to my knowledge no one has bothered to request any information as of yet. But that just means we'll be the first—so we can set the precedent." Justin's eyes, normally a warm brown, were practically brimming with excitement. He glanced at his notes again, then looked up and smiled at Hermione. "This is brilliant, really. Although it's certainly going to turn the RCMC on its head. Are you sure you want to pursue it?"

Hermione paused, then nodded firmly. "Absolutely. That department needs a good toss-up, and it's only fair to the beings, beasts, and spirits. They're no less important simply because they don't carry wands."

"I tend to agree. You know, in the Muggle world, there's an entire niche of fairness suit attorneys," he told her. Then his brows quirked at her expression. "But I can tell that you already knew that. By the way, I don't think you've mentioned why you're so gung-ho on this crusade of yours."

"Oh. Well, um, I actually spent some time as the president of—of a small organization that, uh, campaigned for the rights of...certain beings." Hermione tried not to grimace at her vague answer. But mentioning SPEW to anyone who had been at Hogwarts with her would be a dead giveaway. She hurried to cover up the lack of an answer. "And I realized after examining some of the Ministry's actions that the hostile environment actually extended to just about every creature under the purview of the RCMC, some more than others. I just want to see justice served." _Although not entirely in the way you think_, she added silently as they shook hands and parted ways.

It pained her that some of the actions they were prosecuting were actually her own, but it had to be done. From the other side of the fence, Hermione could see that perhaps some of her proposed policies _had _been a bit overzealous. And perhaps had missed the point of view of the very creatures she had been trying to protect. Still, what she and Justin were doing here was for the better; it just also had the hopeful side effect of cleaning house in the RCMC. And then Dolby—who hadn't bothered to do a damn thing since long before Hermione had gotten there—would find out just how bad an idea it was to piss off a _passionate _employee like herself.

* * *

A few days after Justin filed their charges with the Wizengamot, Hermione stopped by the Ministry to pick up her few belongings from her office. They didn't amount to much—a few of her favorite biros, some organizational trays, and a framed photo of herself with Harry and Ron from the first Ministry celebration after the war. Looking at her younger, war-ravaged self, Hermione nonetheless smiled. The three of them looked deliriously happy in this photo, arms slung affectionately around one another, laughing at Merlin knew what. Probably just laughing with joy about still being alive, honestly.

Hermione tucked the photo away in her satchel, feeling melancholy all of a sudden. She was still friends with the boys—nothing would change that—but their relationship was certainly different now. She couldn't even really pinpoint when it had happened, but they'd grown apart, just a bit. Harry and Ginny were enjoying their wedded bliss, as was their due. Hermione of course didn't begrudge them that. As for she and Ron—well, they'd realized a romantic relationship just wasn't in the cards for them and there had been no hard feelings. Even her fears about Molly Weasley's reaction had never materialized, thank goodness. And now Ron was engaged to Lavender, and Hermione couldn't be happier for them.

So—what? Was she honestly feeling left out? Ugh. The very notion made her grimace. She didn't need someone to make her feel validated, no indeed. Just look at how beautifully her revenge plan was coming along. She had all she needed, and to her surprise, working with Justin had reignited some of the spark she'd felt back when she'd started SPEW, and then again when they'd been on the run. It seemed she needed a clear purpose that had been lacking during her time in the RCMC. Although there was one thing that would make her feel even _better_, and she decided now was as good a time as any. She just needed to get in, get out, and make sure no one put two and two together.

Ten minutes later, "Gwendolen" stepped out of the ladies' and headed down to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. She was in luck—Jackson was standing by a coworker's cubicle, discussing the latest Quidditch match. Pasting on a sweet smile, Hermione approached.

"Excuse me. Can someone tell me where to find the Apparition test department? I get so hopelessly lost in here—"

"I'll take you," Jackson offered predictably. He never had been able to resist a damsel in distress. As someone who preferred to save herself, Hermione wondered what exactly she'd ever seen in him, anyway.

"Oh, thank you," she gushed, batting her eyelashes at him. Jackson smiled back, taking her elbow and steering them deeper into the department.

"It's no problem," he replied. His eyes slid down her body and Hermione had to repress the urge to snarl. His gaze landed back on her face and Hermione made her best attempt at a genuine look of interest. "Here you are. Do you want me to wait for you?" he asked.

"I can find my way back out. But thank you, again." She smiled at him once more, then leaned forward and placed her hand on his chest. As planned, his gaze fell to the low-cut neckline of her robes. He didn't even notice when a little flicker of blue magic sparked from her fingertips to the exposed skin at the vee of his shirt. Lowering her voice, she murmured, "I _really _appreciate it."

"It was my pleasure," Jackson answered in an equally low voice.

Grinning now to herself rather than for his benefit, Hermione straightened and walked slowly into the testing center, making sure to sway her hips as she did so. Just as she reached for the door, Jackson called out, "Wait!"

Taking her time turning around, Hermione raised her brows. Jackson hurried on, "Maybe we could grab a cup of coffee sometime? I'd love to see you again."

"Oh, but we'll see each other again soon, I've no doubt," she fairly purred.

Jackson's face clouded in confusion, and Hermione _almost _felt bad. Then he cocked his head and said, "But I don't even know your name!"

Yanking the door open and striding through, Hermione said, "Believe me, you will."

* * *

She waited in the testing center lobby for a good ten minutes, enough time to make sure that Jackson had returned to his area. When the coast was clear, Hermione exited and made her way to the lifts, taking care to skirt the Magical Accidents office. Once she was home, she changed out of the tight robes and scrubbed her face. Pulling the wig off, she sighed in happiness. Her hair was growing back in, thanks to Madame Mimsy's Hair Strengthener, but it was still extremely lopsided. When she _did _go out and about as herself, she made sure to keep a knitted cap pulled tightly over the whole mass. It really irked her that she was susceptive to such a ridiculous vanity, but there it was. She was no better than the silly schoolgirls she'd turned up her nose at all those years ago. Turns out she was quite willing to subject herself to an itchy wig rather than let people see the mess that her hair was at present.

Like usual, Crookshanks took the opportunity to pounce on her wig, wrestling with it on the bed. He was convinced it was a bitter foe that must be defeated, and Hermione had had quite the time of it keeping his claws from doing any damage. Rescuing the black hair, she placed it carefully back in its box and put the whole thing out of reach of the cat.

"You know I need that," she chided him gently before scratching his chin. Heading back to her kitchen, she set about making a pot of tea before sitting down at her desk to outline some of the points she wanted to make when she and Justin were before the Wizengamot. Based on Harry's experience with the group, she knew she'd have to fight for any opportunity to speak at all, and she wanted to make sure she got her most important points across in the limited amount of time that she would be able to wrest from them.

But her mind was unsettled, and she gave it up as a lost cause after about thirty minutes. Summoning her bag, Hermione dug out the photo from her office and stared at it again, trying to pinpoint the source of her restlessness. Dear sweet Godric Gryffindor, but they'd all been so skinny. The black-and-white photo only emphasized how hollow all their cheeks were, and Hermione doubted she'd be able to shimmy back into that particular dress without a good deal of magical alterations. At least in the years since they'd all regained some weight and gotten healthier. Physically healthier, anyway.

Mentally, well, she wasn't so sure. It had taken both a magical and Muggle therapist plus medications to get her anywhere close to normal. She'd begged Ron and Harry to see someone as well but she doubted they'd followed through. The wizarding world just wanted their heroes and their celebrations—they hadn't much cared about the stability of the very people they claimed to adore.

And now she was wallowing. She hated that. Putting the picture on her mantel with some others, Hermione turned her mind to something happier—the next step in her revenge plan. Things with the Ministry were out of her hands for the moment, and she had no doubt that Jackson would soon be discovering the effects of the jinx she'd placed on him. Of course, he would probably never make the connection between his new problem and the fact that he'd cheated on Hermione Granger, but _she _would know, and that was enough.

Grinning widely, Hermione imagined how _that _conversation would go with his delightful Petra. And inevitably, her thoughts turned to the final step in her plan: one Severus Snape. He'd watched as Dolby delivered the bad news, and that alone was enough to incite her anger. But more than that—he'd _known_, the blighter, and he hadn't bothered to let her know until she was already on the way to Dolby's. He could at least have given her some advance warning; after all, he'd known to send the reports to Lisandra, hadn't he? She'd thought they'd struck a tentative friendship, at least as much as Snape could ever be friends with anyone. But his amusement at her predicament and then his assertion that he wouldn't fuck her if she was the last female on Earth...well, her pride had been deeply wounded.

Now to determine the best way to hurt him like he'd unknowingly hurt her.

* * *

It took about three months, but in the end, Hermione and Justin's suits were successful. Dolby and four other senior staffers had been allowed to resign and keep their pensions, which Hermione had no quarrel with. At least there would be some fresh thinkers in the department, and hopefully things would be changing for the better. The entire wing was relocated to a creature-accessible lodge in the countryside, with active Floos and Apparition points available to transport the human Ministry workers.

One unfortunate side effect had been the discovery that Snape hadn't located one of Voldemort's dark creatures in over six months. He had, in fact, determined that all of them had already been discovered and dispatched by his own wand. Faced with his own documentation that there was no real need for his section, he had been one of the ones offered resignation, which he'd accepted. Hermione felt internally miserable about this—after all, his job at the Ministry was one of the few things left to him in this new life that he hadn't anticipated living. She only hoped that he could find some other purpose to keep him stimulated, because if he didn't...well, then the gilt on her masterful plan would be tarnished for sure.

But as bad as she felt about him losing his job, she couldn't deviate now, when she was so close to completing her final act of revenge. Taking a trip to the loo to give herself a pep talk, Hermione hid in a stall when she heard voices coming. She hoped they didn't take too long—Justin was waiting for her and then they were going to meet with Kingsley to discuss the Wizengamot's rulings.

However, it was not meant to be. One of the women entering the loo was Lavender Brown, and Hermione's hopes for getting out of there quickly dissipated. Maybe the women wouldn't stay and chat, though. She could hope, right?

"—just don't understand! He's never had this kind of problem before," the other woman was saying. "Do you think he's cheating on me?"

"I'm sure that's not it, Petra," Lavender said. Hermione rolled her eyes—the mystery voice was none other than her romance usurper, the nubile Petra. "Have you all—that is, could you be in a rut?" Lavender whispered like it was the most scandalous thing ever. "Maybe now that the potential of getting caught is gone, so is some of the excitement. That's all I'm saying."

"Maybe," Petra agreed disconsolately. "But he won't even let me blow him under his desk anymore. That used to be his favorite," the witch said wistfully. Hermione gagged.

"Hm. And you said he hasn't let you see him naked?" Lavender asked.

"Not in weeks! I surprised him in the shower one morning and he totally flipped out. Covered himself up and told me to get out. We didn't speak for three days." Hermione could just imagine the pout on Petra's face right now. However she, unlike Petra, knew _exactly _what was bothering poor Jackson. Deciding to step in, Hermione exited the stall, smiling at the women by the sinks.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help but overhear," she said as she washed her hands. In the mirror, she saw Petra looking embarrassed and Lavender looking cautiously interested. "But I think I know what your boyfriend's problem is."

Now both women were staring at her with interest. "Really?" Petra asked. "But how—"

"Just a hunch." Hermione dried her hands and stepped towards the door. "If I may? Read up on the Pinocchio hex. You'll have to check the bookstore in Knockturn Alley, though; they don't talk about those kinds of spells in Flourish and Blotts. Good luck!"

She exited the loo, practically skipping down the hall. So her jinx had worked! _As if there was any doubt. Hermione Granger is damn good at spells_, her ego reminded her.

"Wait!"

Hermione stopped at the sound of Lavender's voice, turning slowly to face her former nemesis. She and Lavender had long ago buried their hatchet, and of course they socialized whenever there were events that Ron and Hermione had to attend. But no one would ever call them friends.

Petra was nowhere to be seen, so Hermione relaxed a bit and watched Lavender's approach. The scars from Greyback had faded considerably, no doubt in thanks to a myriad of magical skincare products, but the signs were still there for all to see. The indomitable Lavender hadn't let it slow her down, though, and Hermione grudgingly admitted some respect for the girl.

"I'm sorry for chasing you down. But you said 'Pinocchio hex'—won't that just make Jackson's, er, _jackson_ bigger? Why is he acting so bizarrely?"

Hermione considered her for a moment. Lavender wasn't there for idle gossip, nor was she demanding that someone fix the guy for her friend. Deciding to keep it short and sweet, Hermione replied, "It's called the Pinocchio hex but the more accurate description would be a reverse Pinocchio effect. If you get my meaning." She smirked.

"Oh, dear." Lavender clapped a hand over her mouth, then started to laugh. "Oh, my goodness, but that's amazing! I wish I knew who hexed him so I could tell her thanks. He's got to be going crazy!" She snickered and Hermione's opinion of her instantly rose.

"What makes you think a woman hexed him?" Hermione asked, too curious for her own good.

"As if a man would ever think to use that kind of curse! No, Jackson hits on everything with tits. One time he cornered me in the break room and put his hand on my bum. He walked crooked for a week." Lavender smiled, clearly reminiscing. "I'd love to see his face now, though, every time he looks in the mirror."

"Wouldn't we all," Hermione answered drily.

"It just makes me glad that you and Ron split amicably," Lavender went on.

"I—what?" Hermione immediately went on full alert. Patting her hair, she assured herself that her wig was in place. Hell, she'd just been in the bathroom—she was fully disguised. So how—

"Please. I'd never forget that bone structure," Lavender told her. "The cheekbones alone—"

Hermione's hands flew to her face. "I thought I'd done such a good job!"

"Oh, of course you did!" Lavender patted her on the shoulder. "I doubt anyone who knows you would recognize you in those clothes and with the different hair and eyes. I've just always had a sort of gift for analyzing people's facial features." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Because you're such a people person," Hermione said, almost to herself. "Lavender, I—"

"Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. Besides, it's worth it to know that Jackson won't be sleeping with anyone any time soon!" She smiled, a genuine smile that made her look so much more mature than she had in school. With a start, Hermione realized that Lavender actually seemed...nice. Normal. No longer a silly, vacuous teenager.

"Thanks," Hermione mumbled, rapidly reassessing her opinion of Ron's fiancée.

"You should come over sometime!" Lavender nearly squealed. Okay, so she wasn't _too _different. "We've got the house nearly all decorated, but I wanted some additional security charms put on the place and Ron said you're the best at those. I'll make you dinner as payment? I'm a better cook than Molly, Ron always says so, although best not to tell her that." Lavender gave Hermione a significant look, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"Best not," she agreed. Then, before she could think of all the reasons why not, she said, "I'd love to. Maybe next week?"

"Great! Ron'll be excited. He always says how he wished you'd come around more. Oh, but don't tell him I told you that, either."

Hermione smiled at Lavender again. "I'm looking forward to it," she said, surprised to find that she was being quite honest.

"I'll owl you a date," Lavender promised. "And nice job, by the way, with Jackson. He deserved it."

The girls parted ways and Hermione found a new bounce to her step. She and _Lavender_, making plans for dinner. Who would have ever thought?

* * *

The meeting with Kingsley proved to be yet another surprise. After some brief discussion with Justin regarding the results of the suits, the new Minister sat back in his chair and surveyed them both over steepled fingers.

"I have a proposition for the two of you," he began in that measured tone that Hermione always found so reassuring. "We're obviously a bit short-staffed at the moment, and if nothing else, these charges have shown us some areas of deficiency." He paused and Hermione resisted the urge to squirm, feeling slightly like she was being chastised. Then he went on, "With that in mind, I'd like to offer both you jobs in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. You'll still need to go through the standard approval process, of course, but I don't foresee any problems there."

"Uh—" Hermione began, but Justin jumped in.

"I think I can speak for both of us when I say we'd be more interested in working from the inside out," he said. "The Ministry policy needs updating, all of it. And it's obviously unfair to enforce any of it on the wizarding population if you're not even holding your own employees to the same level."

"I agree. I'd like to see your passion channeled into helping this Ministry become more reflective of the world we're living in, rather than embedded so deeply in the past. What do you say?"

"I'm in." Justin glanced at Hermione, and she grimaced. A job meant references and a resume, which meant revealing her false identity—

"Before you say no," Kingsley said, "let me also add that your previous termination would be nullified from your records, Miss Granger."

Hermione gasped, but neither Kingsley nor Justin reacted at all. "How—you—but I just annihilated an entire department!" she sputtered.

"Which was long overdue," Kingsley answered. "I knew it was you when Mr. Finch-Fletchley first brought me the documents. That kind of insider knowledge could only have come from someone who'd been personally frustrated by the RCMC in the first place." He held up a hand when she would have defended herself. "I didn't say anything because, quite frankly, it needed to be done, and it needed to come from an someone on the outside. But now that the precedent has been set, I believe you'll see that the other departments are more than willing to cooperate." He smiled at her. "It's always been my experience that you do your best work when you're 'fighting the establishment', our American counterparts call it. But I'm hoping you'll use your powers for good and help us modernize this Ministry."

"I—yes, of course, I'd love to," she capitulated. "Actually, I have a few ideas right off the bat—"

"Undoubtedly. Can you start on Monday?" Kingsley asked, his lips twitching. "I'll expect both of you back here in my office at nine."

"Of course," Hermione and Justin both answered. Hermione turned to look at the young man next to her. "And you knew too? Why didn't you say anything?"

"No one else would have brought me notes that were categorized and color-coded to quite that level of obsessiveness," he said, his smile softening the words. "But I told you then—it was brilliant, really, and who am I to stand in the way of progress? Besides, I knew those cases would catapult my career. I just never thought it would do so quite so much..." His eyes glazed over as he no doubt imagined the years and years of policy writing and revising ahead of him. Hermione shook her head. She would never understand attorneys.

"Go on, go celebrate," Kingsley told them. "You won a large case today. I'd imagine there's yet another classmate of yours that owns a pub and would be willing to spring for drinks on the house."

The two of them grinned at Kingsley. Justin said, "You're welcome to join us. Hannah'll close the bar down from the public. No reporters, you know."

"I just may. Thank you." Kingsley stood and gestured for the door. Exiting his office, Hermione waited until she heard the door shut before whirling and hugging Justin.

"We did it!" she exclaimed, doing a little jig as Justin hugged her back.

"You did it," he said. "You'd already done all the legwork. I just carried out the legal end."

"We _both _did it," she insisted. "And now we're both going to do actual, meaningful work. I can't believe it."

"I know. It's pretty amazing, really. Just a few years out of school and we're already working for the Minister himself..." Once again, Justin's gaze was starry-eyed.

"Come on. I happen to know that Hannah's already got The Leaky closed up, and that there might be a couple of people there who want to celebrate with us." She smirked.

"You pre-planned a celebration? Bit cocky, isn't it?" But Justin slung his arm around her shoulder and guided them to the Atrium and the lifts. "Who knew Hermione Granger was such a badass," he mused.

"Oh, stop. I just—had the proper motivation," she said.

Justin huffed. "Being fired unfairly does tend to do that to a person," he agreed. "By the way, I like the glasses. They're a nice touch."

Hermione snorted in laughter, and they made their way to The Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

Hermione closed herself into one of the rooms above The Leaky, surveying the space that she'd rented for the night. Well, actually, Gwendolen had rented it. Regardless, it was hers to use as she saw fit, and that meant that the final piece in her plan was finally going to fall into place.

As soon as she changed clothes.

Digging through her briefcase—an updated version of her trusty beaded bag—Hermione pulled out the snug robes with the purple corseted top. Changing quickly, she smoothed her hair and checked her appearance in the mirror. Tonight, she was taking revenge on Severus Snape, and she needed to look the part.

She knew his type, oh yes. And it wasn't what people usually thought—a fiery redhead with green eyes. Nor was it a busty blonde bimbo, or a brunette bookworm, or any of the other stereotypes that were laid at his feet. No, her Severus' type was _mental_, not physical, and that's where Justin would once again make himself useful. But an attractive physical form wouldn't hurt her cause, either.

Returning to the main floor, Hermione was pleased to note that their celebration was in full swing. And—yes—there in the back was none other than the newly resigned Severus Snape. Grinning, she made her way towards the bar just as Justin hopped up on the old wooden structure and shot sparks into the air to get everyone's attention.

"Thank you for being here tonight!" Justin called out, nodding and smiling at the whoops he got in response. "To be sure, today's victory over the outdated practices of the Ministry of Magic is one for the record books. But I couldn't have done it without the sheer brilliance of my co-conspirator! This woman has brains like no other, and I'd put her up against the foulest of foes any day. Gwedolen, get your fine arse up here!"

Cheers erupted when Justin gripped Hermione's hand and hauled her up onto the bar with him. Hermione grinned widely and announced, "The next round's on us!" Justin toasted the crowd with his own drink and leapt nimbly down, turning and holding out a hand for Hermione. But another, paler hand appeared as well.

"May I assist you?" Snape asked silkily. Hermione nodded, leaning forward to put her hands on his shoulders. Snape placed his hands on her waist and lifted her easily, letting her slide slowly down his body to her feet. Hermione didn't even have to fake the grin of pure feminine vanity as she looked up at him.

"Thank you," she purred. "What are you drinking?"

"Ogden's Finest," he replied, and Hermione Summoned two of them from behind the bar. Swallowing hers in one gulp, she nearly coughed at the burn but managed to keep it together. She was trying to be sophisticated, after all. _Worldly, be worldly, _she chanted to herself.

"You executed quite the coup at the Ministry," he offered, examining her intently. At the last second, Hermione remembered to look at a point on his forehead so he couldn't use Legilimency on her. "I wonder what your next Herculean effort might be?"

She hid a smirk as she ducked her head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You flatter me," she said.

He arched a brow. "Don't be coy. Mr. Finch-Fletchley and, in fact, the Minister himself have both praised your keen intelligence today. I simply wonder whether you might be interested in a partnership...with me?"

The part of her that cared—the part that _wasn't _out for revenge—jumped up and down, screaming gleefully. Working with Snape? As an equal? Gods, it was the chance of a lifetime. He never willingly took on partners. And the fact that she knew this only served to throw a bucket of icy water over her excitement. He was asking Gwendolen to join him, not _her_. Not Hermione Granger, insufferable know-it-all. Not Hermione Granger, Miss Not-if-you-were-the-last-female-on-Earth.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, then gathered the remaining tatters of her fury and her pride and stepped closer to Snape. She placed a hand on his chest and did her best to sound seductive as she said, "I have a room upstairs where we can...discuss...a _partnership _of a different kind?"

To her horror, Snape took her hand in his and murmured, "Lead the way." Despite this being the desired outcome of her original plan, she found that she no longer had the taste for revenge. Honestly, ever since that fateful day, things had actually been on somewhat of an upward climb. She had a new job that she was excited about; she was friends with Lavender Brown, of all people; she'd even been the recipient of one very heartfelt apology from Jackson, although to be fair it had been accompanied by a request to undo the hex that "someone" had placed on him. Everything had fallen into place for her and she was having a difficult time remembering why she'd thought this was the best course of action at all.

_Stay the course, Hermione_, her inner voice told her. _Snape allowed you to be humiliated—he let you think you were friends! _Of course, looking back, she had been foolish and childish to imagine that Severus Snape could ever actually want to be friends with her. She had been his student, for Godric's sake! Even if she had been able to cross the line, he never would. And she ought to just let him be. After all, she'd already lost him his job. Surely that should be enough to satisfy her master plan.

But then they were at her room, and Severus was pulling her inside, pressing her up against the door. Her heart kicked into overdrive as he stared at her, intent as ever. One of his hands was flat on the door by her head, caging her in, and the other came up to hold her chin. They stared at one another for a moment, then he swooped in and kissed the living daylights out of her. There was no other way to describe it—he _possessed _her from the very first touch of lips to lips. Hermione's very being thrilled to the feeling. But on the heels of that realization, her stomach sank. She couldn't do this to him—it would be too much of a betrayal.

"Wait!" She tore her mouth away from his, panting. With trembling hands, she brushed her hair away from her face, and then she forced herself to say, "If you could just give me a moment in the loo?"

Severus straightened, returning her air space to her, and Hermione took a deep breath before fleeing to the bathroom. Once inside with the door locked, she frantically tore away her disguise. The wig, the glasses, the contacts, even the man-killer boots—all of it, heaped on the counter. There wasn't much she could do about the robes, since she'd specifically spelled them to be skintight and unchangeable, but at least she looked like herself again. Just a little bit, er, tarted up. Scrubbing at her mouth, she managed to get most of the lipstick off as well. That was better.

Squaring her shoulders, she yanked the door open and marched back into the room. Snape was leaning against the foot of the bed, arms and ankles both crossed, the very picture of relaxed certainty. His brows winged up in surprise when he looked at her. She started talking before he wrapped his head around this change of events and verbally flayed her alive.

"Yes, it's me. And I'm so sorry, Severus. I had this great plan—great as in big, not great as in wonderful, because obviously, this isn't—but I've had my opportunities for revenge now and to be honest I've lost the taste for it. I was going to let this continue and then humiliate you when you realized you'd slept with a student—it was the worst treachery I could imagine for you. And then for you to find out it was also _me_, Hermione Granger, who you wouldn't sleep with if I was the last female on Earth...well, anyway, it was awful. I know that now. And I'm sorry for even letting it get this far, but you surprised me with—" She couldn't do it. She couldn't mention their kiss. Clearing her throat, she took a moment to compose herself. Surprisingly, Snape hadn't so much as moved, or said a word. She took that as a very, very bad sign. At least if he had raged at her she would have known she deserved it; this silence made her imagine all sorts of horrible outcomes for her. Like death and dismemberment. Biting her lip, she clasped her hands in front of her and said meekly, "Again, my deepest apologies."

He looked at her for a long moment, the silence stretching out to the point where Hermione thought her eardrums might burst from a lack of sound. Then he cocked his head and said simply, "Apology accepted."

"I deserve everything you—wait, what?" It took a moment for his words to sink in. "What, that's it? Accepted? Are you sure? Severus, I purposefully lied to you, seduced you, misled you—oh, and I got you _sacked_! Surely you can't just forgive—"

He uncrossed his arms and waved a hand lazily, dismissively. "It was a bit of a fluff job, anyway. At first I just wanted to take money from the Ministry however I could. Then it turned out that I actually was a bit useful, at least while the snakes were alive." He shuddered. "But the past several months I've only stayed on because..."

Hermione waited for him to finish his sentence with bated breath. If he wasn't angry with her, then what? "Because?" she prompted.

"Because someone persisted in making me her friend," he finished.

"Oh, gods, Severus, I'm so sorry! You must have hated that."

"On the contrary. I've found that you're the first person to have made me think that perhaps surviving Nagini was not a bad thing."

Hermione couldn't help it; she goggled at him. This was all so surreal. He wasn't angry with her for her deception, and now he was saying he—what? Enjoyed their friendship?

"But you—you let me get fired! Without warning me!" she reminded him.

"I was rather hoping you'd be out of sorts enough to agree to my partnership offer on the spot," he admitted.

Hermione felt her cheeks warm. "That _was _an amazing kiss. I, um, would still be interested, if you are."

Severus stood and prowled over to her, tugging her up against him and leaning to whisper in her ear, "I was talking about a research position, you silly girl."

"Oh." Now she knew her whole face was flaming. "Yes. Of course. I would love to, although I'll also be working for the MLE, so—" She tried to untangle herself from his grasp but he held tight.

"I'm amenable to the other partnership as well," he murmured, slipping one hand up her back and into her hair, tilting her head back to give him access to her neck. He laved the spot just under her ear with his tongue.

"But I said 'fuck you' and you said 'not if you were the last girl on Earth, Granger'," she made herself say. Truth be told she wanted to let him keep doing what he was doing, making her forget not only that embarrassing episode in her life but also her own name; but she needed to know why he'd had such an apparent change of heart.

"Are you still on about that?" He bit the juncture of her neck and shoulder, then soothed the spot with a kiss. "Dolby was standing right there. What else was I to do?"

"Oh," she breathed. That changed everything, didn't it? She had no need for revenge, not when this was all working out _very _much to her advantage. Then the hand at her waist slid to cup her bum, and Hermione promptly forgot all about her plans, revenge or otherwise. The only thing that mattered was getting out of these ridiculous robes as quickly as possible— "Wait. Did you know it was me all this time?"

Severus lifted her onto the bed, following her down and pinning her in place with his body and his stare. "I desperately hoped so or else this would have been rather embarrassing," he said, then he kissed her again and Hermione quite happily let him have his way.

* * *

**A/N: This was completely unbeta'd so any and all mistakes are my own damn fault!**


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